


Capture the Flag, But With Snow

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Gen, Snow, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8988019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: Turians playing in the snow can only go one way when the Arterius brothers are involved.Mass Effect Holiday Prompts, Dec 23: Snow





	

**Author's Note:**

> slight au in that saren and nihlus are older than in canon, because canon's timeline makes no logical sense. saren still made spectre when he was 18, but he was 18 long before m.e.: evolution.

“Remind me, Nihlus,” Saren said, subvocals broadcasting his displeasure, “Why are we in the middle of a frozen wasteland?”

Nihlus wasn’t paying attention to him, focused more on his omni-tool while his free hand adjusted his scarf. “Because the Council needs us to investigate a merc group in this system, and your brother was generous enough to let us stay with his squadron in their _heated_ base.”

“You mean sadistic enough,” Saren grumbled, looking disdainfully out over the central courtyard within the base’s walls. Snow had fallen overnight, and the storage equipment and buildings were half-disappeared under piles of painfully white powder, the walking paths and open lawn between them buried under drifts. His breath puffed out in front of him in little clouds, and he wanted nothing more than to go back inside, but until Nihlus finished talking to satellites and comms specialists on ships orbiting the planet, they had to stay where the signal was strongest. “I can’t fathom why the Empire even wants this desolate rock in the first place.”

“Because we needed an outpost in this sector, and our options were either _this_ , or so much tectonic activity you could play jump rope standing still.”

Saren jumped, spinning to see his brother’s perennial second-in-command, First Lieutenant Valis Abrudas, plodding up to them, hands stuffed in her pockets. Already built like a wall, her thermal gear only made her look even burlier, and Saren had to resist the urge to back up as she approached. Instead, he settled for a simple deferential nod. “Lieutenant.”

She nodded to them, folding her arms underneath her keel. “We can’t leave the base to investigate ourselves, so we asked the Council to send someone out.”

Nihlus nodded to her. “And here we are. Is there something you need from us, Lieutenant?”

“Not unless you have any booze on you.” She barked a deep, hoarse laugh. “Afternoon exercises are in a few, and your almighty brother sent me out to check conditions.”

Saren lowered his mandibles and brow plates. “Don’t call him that.”

She snorted. “Sorry, kid, but it’s against regulations to talk shit unless absolutely necessary for the completion of a mission. And unfortunately, that means I can’t call him lazy, procrastinating, or whatever word means he’s happier to sacrifice subordinates to the cold than to do it himself.”

“Try ‘an asshole,’” Nihlus suggested.

Abrudas choked on a laugh. “Fair enough. You two have fun doing your Spectre thing, I should report in.”

They nodded, and she withdrew, pulling up her omni-tool. Meanwhile, Nihlus closed his and looked back at Saren. “Reports from orbital are in. The mercs are hiding out beyond range, so we’ll have to comb the system ourselves.”

Saren cursed. “We’ll have to defrost the engines first. They’re probably iced over by now.”

Nihlus flicked his mandibles. “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Orbital also says there’s more bad weather headed our way around the evening meal. If we started working on the engines now, we’d be done in the middle of it.”

Saren nodded, flicking one mandible in approval. Nihlus had come far from the rough-and-tumble, unwanted recruit who couldn’t take an order he’d met years ago. He’d shaped up into a highly capable Spectre; he’d had to, in order to live up to the standards Saren set for him. Saren had to resist the urge to compliment him, even now; Nihlus wasn’t his student anymore, and didn’t need to be told when he’d done well. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll inform Desolas once he’s free.”

There was motion on the other end of the courtyard, and Nihlus clicked one mandible against the side of his face. “Speaking of your brother…”

Moving almost as one, they turned to watch as turians in heavy thermal gear trooped into the snow. A few paces away, Abrudas glanced back at them, then grumbled something derogatory-sounding about Desolas and strode out, bellowing, “Alright, you lot, fall in! The more you move, the longer you stay warm! Come _on,_ Indadonis, while we’re young!”

Saren shifted from foot to foot, trying to keep warm while the squadron fell in for roll. Nihlus noticed, and shrugged off his cloak. “Here,” he said, subvocals humming with concern as he offered the cloak to Saren, “you look like you need it more than I do.”

Saren nodded his thanks and allowed Nihlus to drape the cloak over his shoulders. “What about you?”

Nihlus shrugged and reached back to put up his hood. “I’ll be fine. Should we go back in?”

Saren shook his head, watching Desolas and Abrudas go through the usual routine of taking roll. “Desolas isn’t stupid. In this weather, regulations say to hold exercises inside. He’s up to something.”

Nihlus hummed. “Regulations also recommend holding at least one session outside for cold climate survival preparations. You’re suspicious of everything your brother does.”

“He raised me since I was five. I know how he works.”

Nihlus shook his head. “We’ll see soon enough.”

In the center of the courtyard, roll had finished, and the assembled troops stood at ease as Desolas paced back and forth on the command platform. “Alright, runts,” he barked, hands clasped behind his back. “As you may or may not have noticed, we’re up to our gizzards in snow out here. Ordinarily, we would stay inside for PT, but given we have two _very_ special guests with us, we’re going to do something different.”

Saren’s heart fell into his gizzard. Desolas drawing attention to him was _never_ a good sign. Not when he was five, not when he was _twenty-_ five, and certainly not now.

Some of the troops tried to sneak looks at him and Nihlus as Desolas continued, “I _assume_ you all remember how to play Siege from when you were even runtier runts, but we’ll go over the rules just in case. We’re going to split you into two teams. Half of you will go with me, the other half with the lieutenant. Each team will have a flag- use your scarves or something. Aim of the game is to capture the other team’s flag and bring it back to your team’s base, without letting the other team get _your_ flag.”

He waited for the rumbles of excitement that had started when everyone realized they were going to play a game instead of run laps or do a lot of push-ups to die down, then went on, “Since the snowdrifts impede movement, we’re going to make a couple adjustments. Rather than tagging intruders out, you will instead throw snowballs. To make it fair to you bigger targets, only cowl and headshots will count.”

He ducked sharply then, and a white blur went soaring over his head. “Not _yet,_ Lieutenant!” he scolded, but the tilt of his mandibles betrayed his amusement. Saren snorted. She should have waited until he’d started talking again.

Desolas stood back up and shook his head, then folded his arms, now looking directly at Saren and Nihlus. “To keep things _fair,_ our guests will be on opposing teams. Saren, you’ll go with Abrudas. Kryik, with me. And Saren, _no biotics._ ”

Saren and Nihlus shared a look, and Saren rumbled apprehensive subvocals. “I told you he was up to something.”

Nihlus nudged his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. It’s just a game of Siege. Like when we were kids,” he told him as Desolas called for any questions.

Abrudas snapped to attention and raised a hand. “Sir!”

He nodded to her, and she went back to at ease. “Sir, is this a needlessly elaborate scheme to allow you to throw snowballs at your brother, knock him face-first into the snow, and prove through humiliation that you’re the superior Arterius sibling?”

Desolas’s subvocals thrummed with amused agreement. “Absolutely, Lieutenant.”

“Just wanted to check, sir.”

“Good work, Lieutenant.” Desolas snorted, then eyed the troops. “Well? You know how to split up. Get going!”

Saren looked back at Nihlus. “Are you _sure_ it would take too long to get the engines ready?”

Nihlus rolled his eyes. “Come on, Saren, it’s only a game.”

“In the _snow,_ Nihlus. And he admitted he’s going to be aiming primarily for me.”

“Relax, kid.” A clawed hand thumped down on Saren’s shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his plates. How a turian as big as Abrudas could move so stealthily, he’d never know. “I have a plan.”

Nihlus put his hands up and backed away. “I should get over to Desolas, then.”

Abrudas nodded. “Get lost, Kryik.”

As Nihlus trotted off, Abrudas slung an arm around Saren’s shoulders and drew him over to where her half of the squadron was already piling up snow into a makeshift fort. “Alright, so here’s how this is gonna work…”

* * *

 

Nihlus paced back and forth in front of his team’s “flag,” a scarf they’d taken from the newest recruit. Fifteen minutes in, and the game had barely moved past a basic snowball fight. A couple brave souls on each side had ventured across the boundary line somebody had drawn with the butt of their rifle, but had been caught within seconds.

As both one of the burlier ones on Desolas’s team and a Spectre, Nihlus had found himself the clear choice for guarding the flag. Towards the wall of the courtyard, he had a surprisingly clear view of most of the field- and thus of Desolas and Saren lobbing snowballs at each other back and forth, locked in some sibling rivalry-spurred battle for dominance. With Desolas’s back to him, he could hardly tell the two apart; his only indicator was that Desolas was bigger, and his markings included painting his entire crest Arterius blue. It was like watching Saren fight with a mirror.

Despite the lack of progress towards victory, the troops seemed to be having fun, avoiding the knee-deep drifts by leaping from tree to equipment to command platform. A few of them had snow in their cowls from taking hits to the face, and more had the stuff clinging to various halves of them depending on the different ways they’d fallen into the snow. Most of them were laughing. It was almost easy to forget they weren’t children, but trained soldiers.

Still, it was cold, and wet, and Nihlus had little opportunity to move around as much as the others. He shook his head, then glanced around, noted nobody in the vicinity, and tumbled backwards to sit down in a snowdrift with a heavy sigh. Part of him regretted lending Saren his cloak. The waterproofing would certainly make sitting in the bank more comfortable.

He’d barely had time to start ruminating on that before a rush of footsteps approached him, paired with a blur of officers’ gray and teal. Startled, he tried to jump to his feet, but fell back into the snow.

He shook his head in time to see Lieutenant Abrudas skid to a halt, the flag clutched in one black-gloved hand. “Thanks, Kryik,” she said, mandibles quirking skyward for the briefest of seconds before she took off again, and Nihlus, half-buried in the snow, could only watch as she charged for the boundary, troops squawking and leaping out of her way. With a jolt, he realized Saren and Desolas were right in her path, and he almost choked on his own tongue as he cried, “General, behind you!”

Desolas turned at his shout, but it was too late. Abrudas barreled into him at full speed, sending both of them flying across the boundary line. On the plus side, Nihlus supposed, the snow cushioned the landing. On the minus, they skidded. A lot. So, as much of a pile formed behind the combined mess of thermal gear that was the two officers, probably half of it was going to be in their cowls and faces by the time they stopped.

One soldier stopped to help Nihlus up, and they went trotting over to check the damage, Saren coming up on his other side as they joined the cluster of troops gathering around the landing zone. Both officers had gone limp, the flag still limply held in Abrudas’s curled hand. As assumed, their upper halves had almost entirely disappeared in the mound of snow.

Nihlus glanced around, and was about to ask Saren if they should call for a medic when the tangle of snow-covered limbs let out two simultaneous groans and shuddered.

Abrudas peeled herself off Desolas, putting a hand to her head with wobbling subvocals. A couple troops moved forward to help her up, and she staggered to her feet. “And Mom says _I_ have a hard head,” she groused, already offering Desolas a hand. “Come on, sir.”

Desolas let out a long, deep groan. “No, thanks,” he said, subvocals broadcasting pain. “I’ll just stay here until the snow melts.”

Saren coughed into his fist, and Nihlus turned in time for him to say, “So, should I tell Grandmother you went down fighting, or would you rather your obituary read you gave up?”

Desolas went still, then heaved himself up, pushing himself to all fours before reaching for Saren’s legs. “C’mere, you little brat,” he snapped, though his subvocals said he was more amused than anything else.

Saren hopped backwards, and Abrudas barked a sharp little laugh. “Oh, don’t be a sore loser, General,” she teased, reaching down to help him to his feet. “Bad form, and all that.”

“Sore loser, what do you-” Desolas’s eyes locked on the scarf in Abrudas’s hand. His head swiveled to look at Nihlus so slowly he was pretty sure he could hear the bones in his neck creaking, and he folded his arms under his keel. _“Kryik.”_

Nihlus cleared his throat, already taking a step back. “In my defense, sir…”

His voice failed him, and all he heard was Saren muttering, “This should be good,” to Abrudas and the clap of a high-three echoing around the courtyard.

* * *

Saren clutched at his mug of piping-hot tea like a lifeline, mandibles fluttering with amusement as Nihlus slumped into the seat next to him. “Still think we should wait to defrost the engines, Kryik?”

“You’re very supportive,” Nihlus groused, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t think your brother was _really_ mad at me, at least. Not after somebody pointed out Abrudas’s tracks in the courtyard.” He looked at him with both mandibles lowered, subvocals a mix of annoyed and impressed. “Was her plan _really_ to just sneak around back and wait until I let my guard down?”

Saren nodded and blew on his tea. “And for me to distract Desolas. I think it worked rather well, don’t you?”

Nihlus snorted, turning away to look over the rest of the mess hall, with troops scattered around getting hot drinks and food to warm up. “Why do I doubt a high-speed collision was part of the plan?”

“Because it wasn’t,” Saren conceded. “Still, they’ll be fine. They left medical ten minutes ago.”

Nihlus’s mandibles turned in small circles. “And they’re not here…” He shook his head. “You know, something keeps bugging me. Your brother’s a _general_ \- he could have his pick of the imperial forces for his second, and he picks a _lieutenant._ Why?”

Saren snorted. “Nihlus, please. You’ve seen how they look at each other. _You know why.”_

Nihlus took a moment to process that, then shuddered slightly. “I know inter-officer relations are allowed, but… He’s your _brother,_ that’s so weird to think about.”

“Welcome to my world,” Saren said idly, taking a sip of tea to test if it was cool enough to drink yet. “Are you going to get anything to drink, or did your humiliating defeat take away your appetite?”

“Humble, Saren. Very modest of you.”


End file.
